


Tolv Poeng

by emiliesimagination



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, douze points, eurovision au, the European version of Prom, the angst will be real, who doesn't love Eurovision, will be adding tags with each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliesimagination/pseuds/emiliesimagination
Summary: Representing two competing countries at the 2018 Eurovision Song Contest in Stockholm, Noora and William (plus their corresponding teams) will fight for the European votes and douze points. But what would your friendly music competition be without a little romance and intrigue?Or, the Eurovision AU literally no one asked for, starring all your favourites from Skam.





	Tolv Poeng

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if anyone will actually be interested in this AU, but honestly, I've wanted to write this for so so long and with this years Eurovision approaching I thought I'd give it a shot. This is like my own personal love letter to Eurovision and Skam.  
> I have the whole thing plotted out (like really every scene to the bitter end) and I hope I can stick to the chapter count.  
> Disclaimer: If you're not European and have no idea [ what I'm talking about](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMgW54HBOS0), please google 'Eurovision' first!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs!

“This is an excerpt from something I wrote a while back. It’s not quite finished but it’s my thank you to you for being an incredible audience tonight,” Noora tucked the mic from its stand and for the last time that evening a hush fell over the crowd of onlookers.

“Y _ou shut me down, you like the control,_ ”

Her fingers brushed the strings of her guitar as she settled into the rhythm.

“ _You speak to me like I'm a child,_

  
_try to hold it down, I know the answer,_ ”

A whistle to her left broke through the crowd and she smiled before continuing.

“ _No, I can't shake it off and you feel threatened by me,_

  
_I tried to play it_ nice _but,_

_Oh-oh-oh, ooh, ooh_

  
_Don't kill my vibe,_ ”

Several people clapped and she blushed as she shifted her eyes from the floor to eye level with the audience. The first row was close enough for her to shake hands with the people currently listening with content smiles. The claps spurred her own and the smile on her lips grew with every beat.

“O _h-oh-oh, ooh, ooh_

  
_Don't break my stride_

_You think you're so important to me, don't you?_ ”

She let her gaze wander over the crowd, squeezed into the small space between the bar and improvised stage she sat perched upon a bar stool. Most of them were students who took advantage of happy hour beer prices. Getting a feel for an audience was a crucial puzzle piece when it came to the success of a small gig like this, and Noora found there was a certain fascination with reading the people in front of her; maybe that was her parent’s psychological upbringing shining through.

She took a second to swallow and then spurred her guitar into the final verses.

“ _But I wanted you to know that you don't belong here_

  
_You think you're so important to me, don't you?_

_Don't kill my vibe_ ”

With her eyes nailed to the ground she pursed her lips and after the usual moment of silence, the crowd echoed with cheers and more whistles. Careful to put her guitar down, she hopped off the stool and took in the applause. This would never get old, all the hard work and exhaustion after throwing out song after song was washed away in moments like this.

The bartender gave her a nod and flicked the overhead lights back on. Movement got into the audience as they pushed back into the seating area and towards the bar. A few lingered and one guy sporting a bald cut and neon orange sweater approached her.

“I saw your event on facebook and thought I’d check it out. Loved the last piece. You have a unique voice,” Noora mustered his face and then shook his outstretched hand. “My name is Eskild.”

“Hi, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

This was the awkward part. She handled the cheers and applause just fine, but taking a personal compliment form strangers still tucked at her insecurities. The guy seemed chill and made a genuine impression but she had learned to be wary when it came to the unspoken expectations behind flattering words.

“I’m serious, you’ve got great potential!” the guy fiddled with his wallet and Noora felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I work for NRK and you know what Eurovision is right?”

“Uhmm, yeah,” was all she managed and her confusion must have shown on her face because he let out a brief laugh.

“I’m scouting for the Melodie Grand Prix and I think you’d have a decent chance,” he said and pulled a paper card from his wallet.

Noora stared at him for a little longer than had been called for and quickly rectified the situation by pushing her hair behind her ears. Sure, every European knew Eurovision but she had never imagined herself ever participating. Neither had she watched Melodie Grand Prix - the Norwegian preselection - and she wasn’t sure it would be a wise path for her; cheap pop and cheesy acts, her parents had dubbed it years ago.

“I’m not sure the whole Eurovision thing is for me,” she avoided looking him directly in the eye and fiddled with a strand of hair instead.

“You don’t like Eurovision?” his brows shot up towards his non existing hairline and he pulled his lips into a pout. “I do take that personally.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his face and he shot her a grin back.

“No, I mean I’m just indifferent. It’s okay I guess,” Noora said, a little flustered.

Apparently that had been the wrong choice of words because he was now tilting his head closer and narrowed his eyes. “This needs to be rectified! I suggest you go and look up a few videos on Youtube and if you still need some more convincing, you call me!”

He handed her his business card, “You don’t need to decide anything right away but if you make the right choice I’ll talk you through the next steps. Melodie Grand Prix would be happy to have you,” before she could protest he padded her shoulder and disappeared in the sea of people.

Left to her own devices, she stared at the wrinkled piece of cardboard. It read ‘Eskild Tryggvarson, Publicist and Social Media Consultant for NRK’. It looked authentic and before she could second guess herself she put it into the front pocket of her jeans; after all this was too big a chance for her to toss it to the trash.

But there was no time to mull over his proposal as Eva appeared at her side to help her pack away her stuff. Her beaten guitar case and the mic in tow, they pushed and shoved their way to a table the owner had reserved for her. Sana was already settled down with a pitcher of water and the bowl of complimentary pretzels.

“Awesome set tonight! And they seemed to love your new thing,” Eva said and slid into the seat between Noora and Sana, who looked up from her phone to give Noora a brisk smile.

“Yeah, it was a good crowd,” she took the water glass Sana had poured for her.

“Good might win you the understatement of the year. They went absolutely mad at the last chorus,” Eva smirked at her and than turned her face to nod at a passing waiter, apparently already familiar with the saving staff.

Feeling the same heat from a few minutes ago flare up again she puller the business card out and turned it between her fingers.

“Is that from the bald guy?” Sana squinted to read the name in the dimmed light. “What did he want?”

“He’s NRK and just offered me a spot to compete in the Melodie Grand Prix this year.”

“And you agreed right?” Eva studied her.

“Uhm no, I’m not sure it’s a good choice,” Noora reached for a pretzel and busied herself with picking the salt pieces off.

“Why the fuck not? It’s an amazing opportunity!” barring a scarily close resemblance to Eskild, Eva gawked at her. Sana said nothing but frowned.

“Just it’s a bit much with uni. It’s already November and I’d need to write and record a whole song before January. I don’t think I have the time right now,” the pretzel cracked in her hand and she popped it in her mouth with a defeated exhale.

“Bullshit,” this time it was Sana raising her voice, “You already have a half finished master piece and honestly forget uni. You’re twenty, you have enough time to get a degree afterwards.”

“Yeah, fuck uni,” Eva echoed, took her beer from the waiter and glared at her.

Noora huffed. She wasn’t stupid, she realized that Eskild might have just handed her an amazing opportunity on a silver platter. She probably had a slim chance at winning the preselection but the buzz even taking part would give her, might be that push she had been looking for. But like it or not, her weekend gigs could not cover the bills and she knew her parents’ opinion on her singing ambitions only too well. Participating in an Eurovision preselection would not go over well.

It made her feel like a child, being depended on her parents’ money and good graces. They had pushed her to get a business degree and even though Noora didn’t hate it as much as she had anticipated, it definitely wasn’t what she wanted to spend the rest of her life pursuing.

“My parents would freak.”

“Fuck them too,” Eva was gearing up for a fight, “It’s like two or three months and Sana’s right, you have your whole life to get that freaking degree after. Just tell them that!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that will sway them,” Noora gave them a lackluster smile. If only it were that easy, she would have already done it.

“Just you know, keep it to yourself. If you don’t win they might never have to know, and if you do I’m sure they’s be too proud to be mad,” Sana gave her a triumphant smirk and poured them each another round of water.

“My parents are not the kind to be swayed by winning a musical contest,” she traced the edges of the business card. “I just don’t want to break their trust.”

“I know my mom would’t mind you missing the rent for a few months, I honestly don’t think she’d even notice. So even if they cut you off or whatever, at least you’ll have a roof over your head.”

“The deli Elias is working at always let’s him take home the extras, so you definitely won’t starve either,” Sana added.

Noora smiled and pursed her lips, mulling it over in her head. Finally, she took a deep breath, “Just so you now, I’m blaming the two of you if I end up homeless on the street,” Noora pulled her phone out and dialed the number on the card.

——

“For fuck’s sake William, its past 12.”

The sound of a pillow colliding with something soft was followed by a muffled groan when Chris pulled up the bedroom blinds. The Oslo midday sun flooded the apartment and revealed the mess of limbs and uncombed hair splayed on the king sized bed. Chris moved through the mess of beer cans and plastic cups that formed a trail from the kitchen to the bed and forced a glass of water plus aspirin into William’s limp hand.

“Remind me again, why giving you a key was a smart idea?” he pulled his head from between the pillows and waited for his eyes to focus on his best friend slash publisher towering above his bed.

“Because you’re a man child and the label pays good bucks to keep you on schedule;” Chris dumped a duffle beg beside William and paced through the penthouse loft. It wasn’t huge but considering the real estate prices in Oslo it was probably worth more than his dying career at this point. The furnishing had been kept to a minimum to allow for maximal open space and light from the floor to sealing windows behind the couch. Today, the sky was clear and the deep blue waves were littered with boats and the ferries passing Aker Brygge like clockwork.

Tearing the aspirin open and pouring it into the glass in his current state required more concentration than he would have liked to admit and the thumping pain of his hangover made him lean back against the pillows. The party had seemed a good idea last night and the buzz of music mixed with alcohol and the usual Oslo gossip always got the better of him. Considering the amount of empty bottles and beer cans he was lucky Chris hadn’t found him in bed with some random chick.

Chris didn’t share that sentiment tough. “You honestly don’t deserve this apartment. Like this,” he gestured to the can and stains on the carpet, will take a day to clean.”

William glared and pulled one of the shirts from the duffle bag over his bare torso. The sent of fresh cotton and detergent clashed with his own; the stench of beer clung to his breath and his hair raked of smoke and weed. Wrinkling his nose, Chris pushed him into the kitchen and flicked the switch for the coffee machine.

“Look, you smell like a dumpster and you look worse”

“Thanks,” he huffed, but Chris continued, “But I’m here on a time sensitive matter. You remember the BBC proposal, yeah?”

William frowned for a seconded but followed up with a nod.

“They want an answer by five and the label is pushing for an agreement.”

Chris’ other bag produced a heap of pages he pulled onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m not doing it,” he picked at the top sheet of paper and regarded the title.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why they sent me instead of your darling brother.”

Right, his brother had called seven time when he had last checked his phone yesterday. William had made a point of ignoring Nikolai since the incident last Monday. They had fought, that in itself was nothing unusual, but the whole disagreement had climaxed in his brother threatening to quit his contract with William’s record label - a successful London based one, famous in the pop scene. If it hadn’t been for the cops showing up to inquire about a neighbor’s noise complaint - the whole thing had taken place after 1 am - William might have actually punched him.

Having his brother as his manager had worked out well for one year and two number one hit singles. But with the decline in revenues, Nikolai had become more and more inpatient watching his younger brother blow all the money on parties and drugs. Every confrontation had ended in a fight and half a year later the record label had made the wise choice of sending Chris, his assigned publicist, instead of Nikolai.

“Whatever they’re offering, I’m not that desperate. It’s a singing competition for grandmas and gays,” he drowned the espresso in one go and winced when his throat burned from the hot liquid.

“You might change your mind after I tell you this,” Chris forced him down on one of the bar stools after brushing off a beer can. “They’re threatening to terminate your contract if you don’t agree. You don’t really have a choice.”

“On what grounds?”

“Do you really need to ask? You’ve been arrested four times for driving under the influence in three separate countries. You don’t keep deadlines. You punch people in public. You’re rude as fuck to your fans. Do you really want me to keep going?”

William narrowed his eyes but said nothing, instead he grabbed for the contract. “So this is my redemption story?”

“If you like, call it that, yeah. You need the publicity this will bring. You don’t even have to win or place top five, but we need your name out there and associated with something the fanbase can rally around.”

“And the label doesn’t think it’s weird for a Norwegian to represent the UK?”

“Honestly, they couldn’t care less. They have a long running relationship with the BBC and they think they you will draw on the Scandinavian voting pools,” Chris looked through the poorly stocked fridge and then placed a strawberry yogurt in front of William. “Anyway, you’re a dual citizen spending most of your time in London as it is, so I don’t think that should be your biggest issue right now.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet”

“Well, until you do. They have sent over song proposals,” he handed him the iPad. “Just pick the one you hate the least and we’ll make it work. They’ve had a whole team of songwriters work on them for the last month, so you know, don’t fuck it up.”

William pressed his knuckled to his temples with an exasperated groan.

-

Three months later Noora hit the finishing note and the strings of her guitar buzzed under her fingers. The crowd goes wild and the grin that has spread over her face broke the weight she had been carrying since November from her shoulders. The breaths broke from her lungs in a ragged rhythm, short and closer to hick ups than proper exhales and she gives the crowd one last wave “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“This was number 5, Noora with ‘Don’t kill my Vibe’,” the announcer boomed through a sold out Oslo Spektrum and one of the assistant helped her off stage. Her head spun with the blue tinted stage lights and the cheers and claps echoing off the walls. The girl carrying her guitar fired commands over her had set and showed Noora back to her dressing room with a curt smile, “The winner will be announced in two hours, be ready.”

Her nerves were slow to adjust as she dropped into the couch and pulled her fingers through her hair. The tingling sensation pulsed in her body and it took half the bottle of lukewarm coke to compensate for the adrenalin raving havoc in her system. It had gone well, better than she had dared to hope and the realization that this might have been it, her final performance on such a huge stage, brought her mind to a halt.

The last minutes before her performance had been the worse. Stage fright was nothing new, a sensation that had followed her to every bar gig and in front of audiences smaller than the average school class room. The sensations came back to her, her finger tips had been numb and her mouth dry, making every swallow a fight against her throat. Eva had kept prodding at her hair and clothes.

Noora had insisted on choosing the outfit herself. The blush coloured blouse had been tucked into her go to pair of high waisted jeans with black booties borrowed from Eva. Compared to the glimpses of her fellow competitors she had caught at rehearsals, she was direly underdressed. The others sported dresses covered in sequins or body con suits shimmering in rainbows colours. Eva had argued that a simple dress to show off her legs would be an appropriate compromise but after trying on two dozen and Noora grimacing at every single garment she had been forced to agree to Noora’s original choice. She had turned down Sana’s offer in assisting her with make up as well and had gone for a bare face save for her red lip - Eva claimed it was her trade mark and Noora was inclined to agree.

“Honestly, the average teen girl in the audience looks more stage ready than you but I’ll let it slide if you kill the vocals,” Eskild had said to her before whisking Eva and Sana away and pushing Noora onto the stage. “Good luck, honey. You’re rocking this!”

“Killed the vocals, indeed you did,” present moment Eskild burst through the door and pulled her out of her thoughts. Eva and Sana were half a pace behind, red faced and panting. She had spotted them in the audience over at the seated section during her song. They must have rounded the whole stage - a rectangle shaped platform that spearheaded into the dancing crowd with its front corner - and sprinted up two sets of stairs to reach her dressing room only minutes after her.

“If you win, you’re handing the fashion decisions over to an actual stylist though,” Eva slumped down next to her and took a healthy sip of her beer. Noora giggled and gave her friend a friendly nudge to the abdomen.

Sana took the floor and tapped away on her phone. “Twitter loved you, and you’re rising with the bookmakers too,” she pulled up a betting page and showed it Noora. “I wouldn’t make any betts about winning with Eva if I were you. It’s not actually that unlikely.”

Noora pursed her lips and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. Of course she had played with the though before, how cool it would be to actually go to Sweden as Norway’s representative but those daydreams were like playing with wildfire. The rush the audience had given her still lingered in her veins and the pride of making a hall filled with thousands of people scream and cheer was addictive in the way she imagined drug users to ache after the next high.

She didn’t dare getting her hopes up now only to have to have it all ripped away later. She was a bad liar and even worse actress, so hiding her disappointment in front of a live television audience when someone else won would only end in tears.

She decided on giving Eskild and her friends the room to make bets and spin ideas about the aftermath of a possible win and plugged her earphones in. The music calmed her nerves and with her eyes closed she could pretend to be in the privacy of her own room stretched out on her bed with a peaceful evening to look forward to.

-

Two hours later Oslo Spektrum thumped with nervous energy and Noora seriously considered throwing up. But as Sana had put it, this was it and there was no backing out now, not that she could have. She found herself wedged in the line up of contestants between a trio of boys, all easily a head taller than herself, and a girl in the most pompous back dress, complete with feathers and sequins.

The hosts, a ginger haired women and a man clad in a smart cut suit, were making chit chat with the audience. They had gone for the last advertisement break of the evening and with every passing minute her chest tightened, as if she had been laced into an invisible corset. Several of the other contestants picked at their dresses or shifted on their feet. The minutes dragged out endlessly and there was an unanimous exhale when the lights dimmed and the music shifted into a fast paced beat.

“So, this is it. We’ve heard all ten songs. We’ve added up all the votes and we’re ready to announce a winner,” the audience cheered and Noora felt her palms wetten.

“We will announce the three acts with the most votes and ask them to step forward,” the music slowed and transitioned into a low hum that made the hairs on her neck stand. “Please take a step forward,” the ginger one smiled and paused for suspense before winking at a side camera. “Emma”

Further down the line a girl with pillowy long hair and the kind of short black dress Eva would have loved for Noora to wear was getting her close up. The others gave her friendly smiles and she was ushered forward.

It took more chit chat with Emma and another suspenseful pause before the man took over the microphone and the camera panned along the line of contestants.

“Noora” his voice boomed and she felt her heart explode. The cheer pulsed in her head and she let the hosts pull her forward next to Emma who gave her a hug.

“How do you feel Noora?” the female host held out her microphone and Noora found the familiar sensation of stage fright creep into her dazed brain.

“Uhm, nervous,” in a clearer mental state she would have smacked herself over the head for that answer. But a few people laughed and one guy whistled. She was hardly paying attention when the third finalists, the group of boys, were called out and took their places to her right.

“Three outstanding acts, three deserving winner. Let’s hear a round of applause for Emma, Noora and the gentleman of ‘Bergen3’,” the audience clapped.

“But now, we will reveal the winner of Norge’s Melodie Grand Prix 2018, the act that will represent Norway on the Eurovision stage in May.”

“Who will be packing their bags for Stockholm?” the male host echoed.  
Noora would have gladly strangled the person in charge of the music. The humming background noise had ebbed away and been replaced by an beat that was modeled to sound like a human heart struggling with a tachycardic rhythm.

“The winner is,” the audience filled the following silence with suggestions of their own.

“Noora, with ‘Don’t kill my Vibe’.” a confetti erupted around the stage and feeling her fingers go numb for the second time this night Noora was hard pressed to keep inhaling and exhaling air from her lungs. Her legs felt as steady as jelly and the impulse to sink to her knees overwhelmed her. Before she had the chance to collapse into an ungraceful puddle on the confetti covered floor, the ginger haired women steadied her with both arms.

“Congratulations!” someone pulled her into a hug and she weakly reciprocated the motions. Her eyes blurred with confetti, buzzing lights and a wet seam of tears.

People moved in and out of her field of vision and after a disorienting few minutes she found herself in Eva’s arms. “Can’t believe,” she hiccuped, “that you actually won!” Noora’s watering eyes paled in comparison to the wet mess of make up and tears sliding down her friend’s face.

Sana and an ecstatic Eskild joined their group hug and screamed into her right ear.

“You’re going to Eurovision. We’re going to Eurovision, I’m going to Eurovision.”

The rest of the night muddled into a blur of faces and congratulatory voices. The only things that stuck with her were the same assistant from before instructing her on the tight interview and meeting schedule for tomorrow and a text from her parents.

“What are they saying?” Sana beamed at her when she unlocked her phone to over 50 new messages.

The smile slid from Noora’s face when she read her mom’s text out loud.

“Call us now!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this far, I'd really appreciate feedback if you like where this is going or have any ideas.  
> A bunch of other characters will be introduced in the coming chapters.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [Noora's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzonQoON9eo)
> 
>  
> 
> [William's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2UmYBkszOA)


End file.
